Tin Hearts
by Black Hole of Procrastination
Summary: Hook and Emma encounter an unexpected and familiar face on their journey to rescue David from Oz. What will this mean for the future of the pirate and the princess? Post 3x11. Future Fic. Emma/Killian & Emma/Graham.
1. Chapter 1

**Tin Hearts  
T  
Romance/Adventure  
Emma/Hook/Graham**

**Summary:** Hook and Emma encounter an unexpected and familiar face on their journey to rescue David from Oz. What will this mean for the future of the pirate and the princess? Post 3x11. Future Fic. Emma/Killian & Emma/Graham.

**Author's Note: **The hiatus has me over-inspired with Captain Swan fic ideas. I may be biting off more than I can chew with this one, but if all goes as planned it'll be in 5 parts.

**Part One**

"In adventures such as this, is it not traditionally the prin_cess_ that is need of rescue?" he asks, shooting a cheeky grin her way.

Emma fights the urge to roll her eyes for perhaps the hundredth time in the last hour.

"I thought you and David were 'mates' now," she says, trying her best to imitate the playful lilt of his voice.

"That we are, love," he says, his smile softening a bit.

As strange as it seemed, it was true. In the year she had been away, a weird sort of kinship has sprung between the prince and the pirate. Apparently being cursed was cause enough to bury the hatchet.

Not that any of that mattered now. Not if they couldn't get David out of this hellhole.

"We'll find him, Emma."

She glances over at the pirate, who is watching her carefully.

That can-do optimism coming from any one else *cough *_ her mother _*cough*, would have set her teeth on edge.

But from him it meant…well it meant _something_.

Hook wasn't a man to blindly believe good would always conquer evil, and he wasn't a man to suffer fools. If he believed they could rescue David, that _she_ could do it, then it was probably true.

"Enough stalling, pirate," she says, eager to change the subject. "We need to find our way out of the forest before it gets dark."

"After you, love" he says, gesturing with a dramatic flourish for her to lead the way.

She punches him in the shoulder before moving ahead on the path, a small smile on her face.

She is grateful he is here. She had not asked him to come. He had simply been there when Jefferson opened the portal, ready to jump into a dangerous new realm alongside her without question.

It was still all so strange.

Less than a week ago she had been Emma Swan, bail bondsperson. Her biggest concern was getting Henry to school on time and the only battles she fought were against her super about fixing the clog in the kitchen sink.

Now she is Princess Emma, curse-breaker and savior extraordinaire. Her father is in mortal danger, and she needs to defeat green-faced menace on a broom that Regina so encouragingly described as "the strongest magical being she has ever encountered".

Peachy.

And while she is nowhere near ready to consider the implications of the pirate's place at her side (not to mention the implications of his ill-timed kiss in New York), she is glad she does not have to face this new evil on her own.

"Didn't we pass this crossing already, love?"

She follows Hook's gaze to the worn sign at the fork up ahead, indicating the path to "The Munchkin City".

The very same sign they had passed twenty minutes ago.

Emma spews out a string of curses that would make a trucker blush. She caps off her unprincess-like display with a petulant kick to the sign's pole.

"Quite a mouth on you, Swan," Hook says. "Worst than even the roughest of me crew."

Emma's first instinct is to be irritated. However, her comeback dies on her lips when she catches the affectionate twinkle in his eye and the flask extended in his good hand.

Her lips quirk upward at the familiar gesture.

She reaches for the flask, ignoring the warmth that shoots through her as their fingers brush, before she takes a generous swig. The rum burns her throat, but the taste brings back memories of pirate ships, jungles, and '_as you wish'_. She takes another sip.

She will never admit it to him, but she's missed this. She's missed _him_.

Even after a year apart, it was nice to know that when the shit hit the fan she could count on her pirate and his flask.

"Still defacing local signage, deputy?"

_Oh shit._

. . .

Hook tenses.

Stepping in front of Swan, he scans the forest for their newest threat. He doesn't have to look too far.

The intruder is casually leaning against a tree, not ten feet off from the forest path. At the man's side is a large grey wolf with one eye as red as blood.

Hook draws his sword.

The beast raises its hackles, its teeth bared in a snarl.

He spares a glance at Emma. She is unarmed, still clutching his flask in her hand. He's about to snap at her to draw her cutlass, when he catches sight of her face.

Swan seems entirely unworried by the fanged creature growling in their direction. Her focus is on the stranger.

It's clear that she knows this man, though Hook can't imagine how, as he takes note of the familiar black uniform of Regina's palace guard.

No matter how they are acquainted, Swan seems surprised to see this man again. No, upon second glance, it is more than that.

Swan looks as if she has seen a ghost.

"Hello Emma."

Something in Hook's chest twists at the ease this stranger has in using Swan's given name. It's as if he has said hundreds (thousands) of times before. _Maybe he has._

The man takes a step in their direction, and whatever stupor had been cast over Swan seems to break. In an instant, her cutlass is out.

"Who are you?" she asks, her blade pointed at his throat in warning.

"You know who I am."

The man seems unfazed by Emma's suspicion and the weapon aimed in his direction. In fact, if Hook didn't know any better, the idiot almost seemed _amused_ by the turn of events.

"Graham's dead." Emma's voice is clipped and official. Every bit the no nonsense sheriff he has come to know and love. And yet, out of the corner of his eye he sees her stance waver.

"I'm looking pretty good for a corpse." The man grins, looking down at himself appraisingly before focusing back on Emma.

"You're not real."

"Emma-"

"No! You're not real!" Emma's eyes are wild, her sword hand noticeably shaking now. "You're some kind of trick. You're not real."

There are tears in her voice.

Hook stills, torn between the desire to comfort Emma and the desire to run this Graham git through with his sword.

Graham is undeterred by Emma's growing hysteria, continuing to edge closer.

Finally close enough, he takes Emma's free hand in both of his, drawing it to his chest. Emma freezes, staring at their joined hands.

"Emma," He says, his voice so quiet Hook has to strain to hear. "This is real, Emma."

Emma snatches her hand back as if it had been burned, though her earlier frenzy seems to have died down.

"How?" Hook has never heard his Swan sound this broken. He begins to seriously rethink running Graham through.

"It's a long story."

"Try me."

Graham hesitates, clearly unsure of how to proceed in convincing Swan. _Good luck with that, mate_.

"There's an old friend of ours who can do a better job of explaining everything," Graham says, scratching at the back of his head uncomfortably. "Her cottage is just at the edge of the wood."

"Who?"

"Around these parts they call her the Good Witch of the South," Graham says, smirking in amusement.

"You've got to be kidding me," Emma says, her arms crossed in front of her.

Whether or not she knows of this witch is unclear, but Emma obviously is not impressed with the suggestion. Frankly he can't blame her. Good, bad, or anything in between, witches were not things with which to idly trifle.

"Hook?"

Hook is startled at being directly addressed. He meets her eyes. She is looking for counsel, he realizes.

He tries to bury the giddy buzz that seems to thrum through him at this gesture of trust. Instead, he turns to assess the man before them.

Despite being dressed as one of the Evil Queen's lackeys, Graham's face is open, friendly even. And while the wolf pacing at his feet is hardly a welcoming sight, his sword is still in its scabbard, untouched.

"At the very least it would get us out of this forest, lass," Hook finally says, sheathing his own blade.

Emma nods.

"Fine," she agrees.

Graham smiles.

"It's not far," Graham says, heading into the forest, wolf at his heels. He moves through the trees effortlessly.

They follow him off the dirt forest path, stumbling over fallen trees and rocks in his wake.

"She can't just get here by bubble?" Emma grumbles under her breath.

"Afraid not," Graham calls over his shoulder, apparently having heard her in spite of the wide berth Emma has put between them. "No ruby slippers either."

Emma does not respond, but Hook notices the small smile on her lips. With that slight twist of her mouth he feels the bottom of his stomach drop.

Hook can't make sense of this odd exchange, but then, little about this strange land of Oz seems to make sense.

Silently he follows, trekking through the undergrowth.

Nothing more is said.


	2. Chapter 2

**Tin Hearts**

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the major delay in updating (I've had a crazy couple of weeks). Thank you to everyone who read and liked the first installment. I've got this fic pretty much roughed out so hopefully I'll be faster with the updates from this point on. After all the spoilers this week, I think it's safe to say this is now in AU territory. C'est la vie. Also, I threw in a sort of 'Frozen' nugget for fans out there. Because of reasons.

**Part Two**

Emma's not sure why she's surprised when Kathryn Nolan is the Good Witch of the South. (Her life is seriously one evil twin or mistaken identity away from being a full-blown soap opera).

She follows Graham and his wolf up the path, Hook trailing close behind.

It would be simpler if this was a trap; if this 'Graham' lead them to the Wicked Witch or one of the countless other villains that kept popping out of the woodwork with a beef against her family. She could handle that. This? Not so much.

Kathryn waits outside the threshold of the cottage. Aside from the whole cape and gown ensemble, she seems generally unchanged from the woman who left Storybrooke 2 years ago.

_Did Emily Post cover how to greet a woman who was married to your father AND the victim of a murder investigation in which your mother was the primary suspect?_

Kathryn saves her the trouble of figuring out what to say, pulling Emma into a short, unexpected hug, before ushering her three guests inside.

She leads them into small, whitewashed room. The ceiling is low enough that Emma has to stoop a little.

"Munchkin-made," Kathryn says, with an apologetic shrug, before guiding Emma into one of the overstuffed armchairs by the fire.

Emma sits rigidly on the edge of her seat, determined to keep up her guard. The chaos of the last 24 hours has left her drained and it takes everything in her power not to curl up and take a nap.

She scans the room.

It is filled with mismatched but comfortable-looking furniture. A series of loose papers and maps cover the room's only table. Next to a large but fairly empty bookshelf, a large metal statue is pushed into a corner. A silver tea tray rests on an ottoman by the fire. Hardly the boiling cauldrons, broomsticks, and other trappings you'd expect from a witch's cottage.

Kathryn hands her a cup of tea.

As a rule, Emma usually steers clear of tea. She is more of a hot chocolate (or on rough mornings) strong black coffee kind of gal. Not to mention that the last time she had tea she wound up drugged and held hostage by a top-hat wearing psychopath. Par for the course when you're the sheriff of Storybrooke, but an event she rather not repeat.

Still, she cradles the cup in both hands, letting the warmth of the porcelain seep into her frozen fingers. She takes a sip. The tea tastes of bergamot and something floral that reminds her of late nights gossiping over tea and blueberry scones with a certain cardigan-wearing schoolteacher.

Across from her, Hook awkwardly balances his own cup in his good hand. Emma tries to hide her smirk. She has seen a lot of crazy things since first following Henry to Storybrooke (a dragon and a homicidal shadow come to mind), but the sight of the fearsome pirate captain holding a delicate china teacup tops the list.

"I don't remember you," Kathryn says, watching Hook carefully. The troubled look on Kathryn's face twists something inside Emma. She is all too familiar with how difficult it is to sort through memories of two different lives.

Since drinking that potion in New York, most things are a fog. The truth has become a muddled thing, and not even her superpower can help her determine the real from the created.  
But every once in a while something (_a sip of tea, walkie-talkies, a brown pickup, "as you wish"_) breaks through, anchoring her to reality.

"He's not from Storybrooke," Emma supplies.

Kathryn nods, visibly relieved as she takes a seat in the chair next to Hooks

"I'm Kathryn," she says. "Emma's evil stepmother."

Emma almost chokes on her tea.

From behind her, she hears a strangled noise, somewhere between a laugh and a snort, come from Graham.

Hook looks thunderstruck. His gaze shifts warily between Emma, who studiously avoids making eye contact, and Kathryn, who is grinning like the cat who caught the canary.

Emma's not sure what conclusions the pirate draws (_undoubtedly he'll have a question or two for his buddy 'Dave' when they're reunited_), but he quickly rallies from this addition to her twisted family tree.

"Captain Killian Jones" he says finally, bowing his head to Kathryn. "But you can call me Hook, love."

Emma rolls her eyes as Hook shoots Kathryn a flirtatious wink.

To her credit, Kathryn doesn't seem particularly impressed by Hook's 'charms', turning her attention back to Emma.

"It's a good thing Graham found you when he did," she says. "You landed in the Forgotten Forest. Those not used to its magic often remain trapped there."

"Lucky me," Emma deadpanned. She _would_ land in some kind of Oz funhouse-forest that traps its victims.

"It's where lost things from across the realms find themselves," Kathryn shrugs. "It's how we came to be here."

"Yeah, about that," Emma says, eager to get down to business. David had been gone for three weeks already. They didn't have time to waste. "You have some explaining to do. How did you get here?"

"It's a long story," Kathryn says. A deflection. The same words Graham spoke not an hour earlier.

Emma sets her cup and saucer on the low trunk next to her.

Making a show of settling back in her chair, she shoots Katherine her patented tell-me-what-I-want-to-know-or-so-help-me-God-you-will-regret-it stare (effective on your run of the mill dirt-bag, as of yet untested on fairytale princesses).

"I've got time."

Kathryn tells her everything.

She tells her about disappearing from a lecture on international trade law at Boston College and arriving in the Forgotten Forest. She tells her about finding Graham and a dozen others, all pulled to this strange land at the same time. She tells her about how Graham is not the only one to have arrived from beyond the grave. She tells her about how they were pulled to the Forgotten Forest because they had been separated from their true selves; the few individuals who had crossed the town line or died while under the curse.

Emma listens, eyes trained on Kathryn's face, ready to find some sign of deception. There is none. And while her superpower has been faulty in recognizing the fact from fiction in her own life, her gut tells her that everything Kathryn has said is true.

"So let me get this straight," Emma says, brow furrowed. "Because of some loophole in Regina's curse you all wound up stranded in Oz?"

Kathryn doesn't seem bothered by Emma's skepticism.

"You are so much like David," Kathryn grins. "I don't know how I didn't see it before."

Emma squirms at the almost wistful way Kathryn is looking at her. Whatever complicated past Kathryn and her father shared, there was still clearly some kind of lingering affection.

"He's why we're here," Emma says, hoping to channel this affection to their advantage. "He's in trouble. The witch has him."

As Kathryn's face falls, so does the bottom of Emma's stomach.

"Then he is in great danger," Kathryn says, confirming Emma's fears. "How can I help?"

"Do you know where she would keep him?"

"Her castle is in the Western Mountains. You will have to cross through the Poppy fields and the Ozelot Canyon," Kathryn pauses, searching Emma's face. "It's a dangerous journey, Emma. Especially for someone new to Oz."

Emma shrugs off the warning. Nothing about this journey had been easy thus far. She hadn't expected infiltrating Oz to be a cakewalk.

"I'll take them," Graham says, moving forward from his place leaning against the doorway. "You will need a guide who knows the land."

Emma closes her eyes. She had almost fooled herself into forgetting about the large elephant in the room that was the resurrected sheriff.

She couldn't deal with this now. Not when David's life hung in the balance. But how was she supposed to get to David? After her time in the Forgotten Forest, her navigation skills in Oz had already proved unpromising.

Steeling herself, she turns to Graham. It's still jarring seeing him standing in the doorway, warm, breathing and so very much alive. She can tell he's trying to keep his face neutral, to appear like he doesn't care whether or not she takes him up on his offer. Despite his efforts there's a glimmer of something behind his eyes that looks an awful lot like concern. _Damn him_.

Emma gives a curt nod, not trusting herself to speak. He smiles, and it's too much. She looks away.

"You should all rest here tonight," Kathryn says. "You'll need your strength. Oz has become a very perilous place."

Emma opens her mouth to argue against waiting, but is interrupted by Hook.

"What the bloody hell's been going on in this land?"

Kathryn gives Hook a arch look, complete with a raised eyebrow that would put even the pirate himself to shame.

"Zelena's had free reign over the land for thirty years," Kathryn answers. "Those who opposed her have left or been eliminated."

Eliminated. Certainly darker than the story Emma had known growing up. Where were the ruby slippers? And the gingham? And skipping down a cheery yellow road? Where was—

"Glinda. Is she—"

"Dead. For many years."

_Jesus._

"And how exactly did you become the Good Witch of the South?"

Kathryn frowns.

"Not long after we arrived I discovered that some of my father's magical proclivities were an inherited trait," Kathryn says, clearly agitated. "Magic is rare here. The resistance was quick to rally around it."

_Well that sounds familiar_, Emma thought bitterly. She was the savior. She knew all too well what it was like having people rely on powers you never asked for.

Kathryn avoids looking at Emma, staring miserably down at her hands resting in her lap. That's when Emma notices them. Gloves.

Emma quickly glances at the metal statue in the corner. It wasn't gold, but it was so life-like, there could only be one explanation.

"Did you—"

"No!" Kathryn interrupts quickly. "Emma, I swear I didn't—" Kathryn looks horrified by the implication. "I'll show you."

Kathryn begins to remove one of her gloves. Hook tenses, his eyes darting to Emma. Emma shakes her head. Despite what had passed between Kathryn and her parents, Emma was pretty sure she wouldn't turn her into a hunk of metal.

Carefully Kathryn reaches for her discarded teacup, grasping the narrow handle in her now exposed hand. Nothing happens. Then, suddenly the surface of the tea seems to harden into ice before breaking into a web of cracks. More ice forms around the rim, slowly spreading until the entire cup is encased.

It's horrifying and beautiful and just as suddenly as the ice has formed the cup shatters, pieces of porcelain and ice shrapnel shooting into the rug.

"You see," Kathryn says, quickly slipping her hand back into her elbow length green glove. "My talents lie in a different direction than my father's."

Emma's heart aches at the bitterness laced in Kathryn's voice. Whatever trouble Emma's magic incurred, it never was this kind of burden.

"The tin gentleman in the corner was once the Captain of the Winky Guard," Kathryn says, making every effort to sound detached. "Zelena discovered certain aspects of my past. She does this to my followers now to torture me."

Of course. The details are a little fuzzy, but Emma can see it now: Henry seated across from her at Granny's, storybook and cocoa in hand, telling the story of her father and King Midas' daughter. She can't remember the whole story (something about a lake monster and her father's acts of daring do) but she does recall a knight turned to metal. The princess's true love.

This Wicked Witch was a real twisted piece of work.

"She is powerful, Emma," Kathryn says, reading Emma's thoughts. "More powerful than you can imagine."

Emma nods, trying to push back the overwhelming sense of dread filling her stomach.

Maybe it was a fool's errand. Maybe it was going to get her killed. But she couldn't just leave David. Not here.

…

"So eager to get me to yourself, love?"

Emma shoots him a glare, before dragging him the rest of the way into her room. The door shuts behind them, and they are alone. Finally.

The Lady Kathryn had placed them in guest accommodations on the second floor of her cottage at opposite ends of the hall (yet another member of Emma's family to win over it seemed).

No sooner had their hostess bid them goodnight that Emma latched onto his elbow and pulled him into her quarters.

She has stuck to his side the whole evening. Under other circumstances he would have been giddy at Emma _choosing_ to be closer to him, but in this instance he sees the truth behind her actions.

She does not wish to be left alone with _him_. Graham. Her 'old friend'. (That's how she introduced him downstairs: an 'old friend').

But he knows his Swan.

He's all too familiar with how she operates. Her avoidance speaks volumes. For her to be this desperate to dodge Graham, he must be something more than just an 'old friend'.

If Hook had any self-respect, he should have spurned Emma's attentions tonight, instead of allowing her to use him (_to escape from another man no less_). But their separation over the last year has made him desperate. He will take whatever part of Emma she is willing to give, and what's more, he'll thank her for it.

The fearsome Captain Hook turned codfish over a woman.

Now that they were alone, the space is back. The space Emma had so carefully placed between them since her memories had been restored. A day ago, he would not have batted an eye. He was a patient man. He could wait for her. But now? The board had been reset with new, unexpected pieces. Emma's heart might not be solely his to win.

Despite having to stoop to accommodate the low ceiling, Emma paces, moving about like a caged animal. There would be no approaching her. Not when she was this agitated.

He takes a seat at the foot of her bed, watching her. He should have never brought her into this. He should have just gone after David himself, and left her to happy ending. Without him. But it was too late for that now. They were here, and somehow, he had to get her through this in one piece.

"Is this how you treat all gentleman you invite to your chambers, Swan?" he smirks, falling back on his innuendos.

Emma glares at him but the fight seems to have gone out of her. She sighs, before moving to take a seat on the bed next to him.

They sit for some time in silence. She avoids his gaze, instead choosing to look down at where her boots dangle, not quite long enough to reach the floor.

"Graham was the sheriff when I first came to Storybrooke," Emma begins.

He listens, careful not to move or react in any way should it deter her from continuing. It is not often that Swan freely offered information about herself.

"He was one of the first people in town to take a chance on me. Made me his deputy," she continues, her voice hushed but steady. "Then he died."

Hook would wager there was a trifle more to the story than that, but is in no position to push. In any case, he'd been right. Graham was more than just an 'old friend'.

"We can trust him, Hook." She finally meets his gaze.

When he sees the unshed tears welled in the corner of her eyes, he fights the overwhelming urge to pull her into his arms. _She's not yours to comfort mate._ Instead he settles for resting his good hand over hers, squeezing the tops of her fingers.

"I trust you, love."

He studies her face, eager to find some sign that she understands his words. They are his promise, his sacred oath to follow her and her alone, even through the depths of hell itself. But her expression is unreadable, her armor in place once more.

Reluctantly, he hoists himself off of her coverlet, turning back towards her once he reaches the door. "Best get some rest, Swan. We have a long journey ahead of us."

As he makes his way down the corridor to his own room, his mind races through all that had passed. It would seem he did not know his Swan as well as he thought.

_Open book, indeed._

Reaching for his flask, he shoulders his door open and settles in for the long night ahead.


End file.
